


fooling in time

by lessthansweet



Category: The Rolling Stones
Genre: Bisexuality, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Rough Sex, The Glimmer Twins, just mick and keith being mick and keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 00:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18109514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lessthansweet/pseuds/lessthansweet
Summary: The little shit had waited for it, Keith could tell, wanting the blood, the bruises, the sex that came after, and what Mick wanted he’d get it.





	fooling in time

**Author's Note:**

> a caffeine-induced word vomit at 2 am after realizing that dammit, i love these little shits.

 

It wasn’t often that Mick got the upper hand in their scuffle, but Keith had taken a little too much of something and his knees were a little unsteady as they stumbled into their hotel room. They were arguing about something, verbally at first before Keith swung his fist and Mick jumped at the first opportunity into one of their screaming, blood spilling fights. The little shit had waited for it, Keith could tell, wanting the blood, the bruises, the sex that came after, and what Mick wanted he’d get it.

“—say something, sweetheart.”

The inside of his mouth tasted like blood and tobacco and cheap detergent of the worn comforter. Keith strained against the weight crushing him into the mattress, against the leather belt looped around his wrists, all while Mick pounded into him with abandon. It burned like hell, Keith hadn’t been in this position for _ages_ and Mick fucking knew that. There was something almost animalistic in the way he moved relentlessly, fucking Keith into submission. It shouldn’t have felt this good, for fuck’s sake.

Keith gasped for air, voice wrecked, but he still pushed on. “Fuck off.”

Mick snorted a breathless laugh. For all those insults Keith made about his dick, it was still splitting him open, stretching him to the point of tears and driving into him hard enough that Keith could feel it on the back of his throat. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to bury his face into the pillow, trying to muffle the moans spilling out from his mouth because Mick didn’t need any more encouragement.

 “The things you let me do to you—” The bastard leaned down, all hot breaths and jutting bones and damp skin, pressing Keith even more into the mattress. His thrusts went deeper, dead on against his prostate, and Keith couldn’t stop the helpless sounds he made with his own mouth. “—you fuckin love it, don’t you?”

 _Shut up, damn you_. Keith ignored him, hoping Mick would stop running his mouth and let his dick did the talking instead. The singer got an excellent dirty mouth when he wanted to but this time Keith was too fucked up to indulge it, literally and figuratively. He just wanted to come, damn it, wanted his hands free so he could stroke himself because Mick sure wouldn’t bother with that.

“Mick, c’mon—”

But he wasn’t that lucky. Fingers yanked at his hair, pulling his head back and Mick was right on his ear, growling menacingly. “You _belong_ to me, asshole. Say it.”

He slammed in, hard, putting his weight into his thrust. Keith yelped, twisting in Mick’s grip but there was absolutely nowhere he could escape the pleasure to. He could feel his orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach, coiling tightly and burning hot like the sun. Mick yanked at his hair again, his pace quickened, brutal. There was an unspoken threat behind the maddening drag of his cock, one that Keith knew too well because he’d done that to Mick numerous times before this.

“Yes—” He tried to speak between labored breathing, scrambling to get his thoughts together. Mick could turn even a good fuck into a fight, holding Keith on the edge until he almost went mad with pleasure. “—yes, I am, fucking hell, Mick, _please_ —”

“Please what?”

“—please let me come, you bastard!”

Mick, thankfully, didn’t drag it out. Keith cried out when his orgasm hit him, muscles locking up and vision going white. Mick let him go and he slumped into the mattress, trembling. Behind him, Mick groaned and chased his own orgasm, now using Keith purely for his own pleasure. He came with his teeth sank into the crook of Keith’s neck, leaving marks where he knew wouldn’t be able to cover.

They laid there for a long moment, trying to catch their breath. Without the creaking of the bed or the sound of skin against skin the silence felt almost peaceful, only broken by the muffled chatters and laughter from the party below.

Mick groaned and pushed himself up. Keith gritted his teeth when he pulled out and plopped down next to him.

“You okay?”

Typical. Keith forced himself out from the cloud of sleepiness that had surrounded him, trying to summon the last shroud of his strength to at least show his singer that he wasn’t the only one who could bitch right after sex.

“You fucking slag.” He groaned, feeling Mick’s eyes on his face. “This shirt’s Anita’s.”

Mick laughed. “So? You ruined her shits all the time.”

Keith heard him fumbling around, probably looking for his pack of cigarette. He rolled to his side, wincing at the sudden pain shooting up his spine. Facing Mick, he now could see the bruise that started to darken on the side of his face, his busted lips, the red scratches on his shoulders and chest. Well, at least he put up quite a fight before going down. There was blood in Keith’s mouth too, either his own or Mick’s but it barely mattered.

He rolled to his back and with numb hands pushed himself to a sitting position, hissing while doing so. “C’mon, take this off.”

Mick threw his lighter somewhere, exhaling a cloud of smoke before dragging himself closer to Keith. His fingers ran over the makeshift binding appreciately, and there was still a playful snark in his voice when he spoke. “Are you going to punch me after that?”

Keith thought it over. “Maybe.”

But he didn’t. Mick rubbed the reddened skin of his wrists, almost like he was apologizing. Keith let him, for a moment allowing himself the quiet, rare moment of sobriety before either of them started hurling insults to each other again. He would have said he wished there were more moments like this between them but Mick was Mick, and Keith loved him for what he was. Even when sometimes he drove him nearly mad with, well, being Mick.

There was a light kiss on his shoulder, quick, before the singer pulled away. “You already did that.”

The moment passed. Keith rolled his eyes. “Not my fault you were slow.”

“Oh, now _I_ was slow? What that makes you, then, Mr. please-make-me—”

Keith threw a pillow to his face. Mick laughed hysterically, one hand stretched out to protect his cigarette from any other pillows Keith might throw. “You told anyone and you’re fucking dead, Jagger.”

He took the remnants of his shirt— _Anita’s_ shirt—and whistled. “How the fuck am I supposed to walk out the party in _this_?”

Mick sneered, leaning against the bed frame. “Seems like I don’t even have to tell anyone.”

“You’re a straight up cunt, you know that?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be a straight up cunt if only you thought twice before sleeping with him.”

 Keith had to laugh at that, slowly lowering himself to lay next to Mick. Christ, he was going to be fucking sore for the following few days. “You think David stay exclusive for you? What the hell, Mick?”

Micks shrugged. “Of course no. Why would you sleep with him, anyway? I thought you hate him.”

Keith didn’t hate him, he _disliked_ him. For petty reasons, nevertheless. He hated almost all of Mick’s socialite friends, and David just had the misfortune of being the guy Mick had his knacker in a twist at. Keith wasn’t jealous, why would he? Mick would come back to him sooner or later; whether he wanted it or not, whether Keith wanted it or not. David had never been less than pleasant to him, and there was no denying that he was devastatingly gorgeous. So when he invited himself over to Keith’s table, high off his mind, and asked him _hey, want a shag?_ Keith went with it.

“Just because. What is it to you?”

Mick offered him his cigarette. Keith accepted it, grateful because he didn’t know where his own pack had ended up. Mick’s eyes stayed on his face as he took a drag, trying to read something off Keith before he opened his mouth again.

“Maybe I don’t like it when someone touched what’s mine.”

Keith exhaled, raising his eyebrows. “He has a wife.”

“I’m not talking about him.”

Cigarette halfway to his lips, Keith stopped _._ It kind of fucked up that he thought Mick made sense because before everything there was always _them_ ; Mick and Keith, Keith and Mick. Before the Stones, before the girls, before the drugs and whatever it was that managed to get between them. Mick was a constant in Keith’s life, a thorn on his side that he could never ignore, but it wasn’t like Keith wanted that thorn _gone._

And maybe there was a little jealousy too that played a part in Keith’s dislike to David. So he couldn’t even berate Mick for being an overbearing little shit. Not that he’d ever admitted it.

“So what.” He finally took a drag and passed the cigarette back to Mick. “We’d just fuck each other brain’s out whenever someone gets in the way? Or should I dump Anita and ask your hand in marriage instead?”

“We already did the first one.”

Keith hesitated before he asked. “And that wasn’t good enough for you?”

He couldn’t explain it. He loved Mick, he really did, but something told him that anything more than…than whatever they were right now, that wouldn’t work.

“It could be better.” Mick shook his head. He didn’t look at Keith. “But then I’d probably hurt you. So, yeah.”

Keith stared at him, remembering endless lists of feminine faces who had come to him with ruined makeup and pitiful sobs whenever Mick slipped up. Same stories, same old lies he would always tell them. _I didn’t fuck him, I wouldn’t know!_

“You probably will.” He agreed.

Mick passed him the cigarette. It was almost gone at this point. “But this is good enough, right? To you?”

Was it? _This_ ; meaning hurried, messy fucks whenever someone was furious or horny or both, meaning sitting in an empty studio room with half-finished songs and showing the other old wounds not quite healed yet, meaning having Mick in the room while Anita curled up next to him. Was it good enough?

He must have been quiet for longer than he intended to because when he set his sight on Mick again he looked somehow small; unsure and anxious. Keith didn’t know if _this_ was good enough, but he was content with what they had. Mick was probably right; _it could be better._

It also could be worse.

“Sure.” He offered a grin, watching as Mick chuckled with relief. “God, I can’t even get rid of you like this. All those girls and the only one you could keep around is _me_.”

“Huh.” Mick blinked. “That’s right.”

Oblivious prick. “That’s kind of sad, actually.”

“Oh, not really.” Mick turned away, yawned like a cat. “That just means you love me a tad too much.”

Keith stubbed his cigarette on the ashtray next to him, carefully reaching for his pants that still tangled on his leg. He took another glance at the unsalvageable shirt, sighed, and punched Mick’s on the arm. Hard. The pained groan did lessen his annoyance.

“Only if you lend me your jacket when we walked out the party, you mad cunt.”

 


End file.
